If there’s one thing I respect, it’s a student production with ambition. If there’s one thing that fills me with mild terror, it’s one with more ambition than budget. So when I sat down for Dunhuang – a musical about time travel, prophecy, and ancient Chinese culture – I braced myself. Would it be a groundbreaking triumph or just an hour of people passionately gesturing at imaginary scenery? The answer was somewhere in between.

The plot follows A-Lai (Lingquan Kong), a modern student restoring murals in the Dunhuang caves, who accidentally damages a statue and is promptly flung into the past. There, she meets Liansheng (Sissi Ding), embarks on a mystical mission, and watches her nobly sacrifice herself to fulfil a prophecy. The story ends with her back in the present, contemplating the endurance of art and culture through time. A grand, sweeping premise… or at least, it should have been.

Five minutes of Dunhuang contained more cultural representation than I usually see in a full term at Cambridge. The ambition to bring Chinese theatre to a Cambridge stage is no small feat; in a town where student productions so often gravitate toward traditional English plays, staging a musical rooted in Chinese history and mythology is a rare and commendable effort.

“The ambition to bring Chinese theatre to a Cambridge stage is no small feat”

I knew my brain had to do some heavy lifting when I saw the sparse set – the mystical caves reduced to a slightly dimmer stage, the grand Silk Road conveyed through actors moving a little slower. At one point, a character motioned to a figurative statue on the floor with such conviction that I almost believed it was there. Almost. The level of trust they placed in our imagination was commendable – surely, we could pretend that an empty spot on stage contained an ancient relic. Surely.

There’s a moment in the show where a character asks, “What does that even mean?” and I felt that deep in my soul. Not in a philosophical “Who am I?” kind of way, but in a “What exactly is happening on stage right now?” kind of way. It was an exchange between A-Lai and Liansheng – one that I could tell was meant to be profound, but I was too busy trying to piece together what was going on. Maybe my Gen Z attention span gave up and started scrolling through imaginary TikToks in my head. Either way, a good piece of theatre should make space for the uninitiated, offering just enough guidance to keep the audience engaged rather than confused. I wanted to be immersed, to feel the weight of the moment – but instead, I was left hoping for context clues like a lost fresher in their first supervision.

What really threw me was the narration. Instead of letting the story unfold naturally through acting or song, we were treated to long stretches of voiceover that made it feel like an audiobook with occasional live-action cameos. Even with that in mind, the evening felt like sitting through an overlong bedtime story – except the storyteller is one of those clowns hired to cheer up children in hospice care.

“I wanted to be immersed, to feel the weight of the moment – but instead, I was left hoping for context clues”

That said, the two lead actors, Kong and Ding, had impressive vocals, carrying the emotional weight of the show with ease. The costumes, too, were striking – rich, detailed, and, to my untrained eye, convincingly authentic. Even without deep knowledge of the historical period, they felt immersive, adding a sense of grandeur to the production. That is, until I spotted one actor sporting Nike socks. A bold fashion statement? A hidden subplot about the encroachment of modernity? Or just an oversight? We may never know.

There was also an unexpected side plot unfolding in the audience – one that, in a way, underscored why productions like Dunhuang matter. A white fifty-something man was very publicly hitting on an Asian woman, the interaction teetering between awkward and outright uncomfortable. It was a strange contrast to the musical itself, which sought to present Chinese culture with depth and nuance, countering the flattening stereotypes so often imposed on it. Moments like this serve as a reminder that representation in the arts isn’t just about visibility – it’s about challenging the ways Asian identities are perceived and engaged with beyond the stage.

And then there was the music itself, courtesy of director and librettist Chris Cai – sometimes atmospheric, sometimes oddly placed, but always present. It swelled at emotional moments, often carrying more weight than the dialogue. But between the heavy narration, the puzzling plot, and the unexpected moments of unintentional comedy, I ultimately left the theatre more confused than moved.

The show clocked in at an hour and five minutes – long enough to tell its story, short enough that it never overstayed its welcome. So, credit where it’s due: I wasn’t held hostage for too long. At the end of the day, theatre is meant to make us feel something - even if that something is mild confusion. It’s easy to critique, but much harder to create, and for that, the cast and crew deserve credit. Not every show needs to be a masterpiece. Some just need to be an hour and five minutes long.

‘Dunhuang’ is showing at Pembroke New Cellars from Tuesday 11 until Saturday 15 March, at 7pm.

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